Playback's Such A Waste
by mental dance party
Summary: Blaine sits there, watching Kurt in his car after dropping him off. He wants some sort of relief, like Kurt running back in the rain to his arms. Futurefic. Oneshot.


**Playback's Such A Waste**

"You really won't love me again, will you?"

Kurt Hummel whips his head around from the sea of dancing bodies.

"Pardon?"

He glances over to the man who asked him the question. He's got dark, curly hair, intense hazel eyes, a growing stubble and a fairly-sized smirk. Clad in a simple beige three-quarters shirt and jeans, he curls a finger in a sort of "come-hither" gesture.

Kurt frowns for a while then realizes who he is.

Blaine Anderson. The heart he broke when the very last day of high school. The one he turned away from. They then had gone to different universities with no form of communication.

Why, oh, why did they have to meet again in a shady New York night club?

Kurt manages to swivel past the couple of bodies before he walks over to Blaine.

He's got his arms crossed but inside he wants nothing more to wrap his arms around him and smother him with 'I'm sorry's and kisses.

"Kurt," Blaine says it simply but it's enticing in his usual charming, sensual manner.

"B-Blaine" His smirk only grows wider as he looks at Kurt.

"Will you answer my question?"

He's caught in a daze

"Huh?"

"You're never going to love me again,"

It came out as more of a statement than the question he intended. Then there's an uncomfortable silence with nothing but the loud music blaring all around them.

"No. I won't" Blaine's grip on his beer tightens and his jaw visibly clenches but he says nothing.

"I'm sorry," Blaine's eyes avert to the wall parallel to him. "Blaine."

Blaine lets out a long sigh before looking at Kurt.

"I still do," he says slowly "Love you, I mean" Kurt quirks an eyebrow.

"What are you even doing in New York?" Kurt asks, leaning on the wall, right next to Blaine "I thought you were in L.A. with your music."

Blaine looks at him, with a mix between an amused and shocked look. "How'd you know that?"

"I read the papers, you know. And apparently you're good enough to make it into a miniscule filler article in the New York Times"

Blaine's beaming, not because he's proud, but a little more flattered.

"Thank you," Then he says rather hesitantly "Why don't I drive you home? It's nearing midnight. It's the least I could do"

Kurt shakes his head stubbornly "I can catch a cab."

Blaine manages to get himself to grab Kurt's soft hand. "Just this once. I may never see you again" his voice cracks at the last few words.

Kurt notices.

"Fine," he says with both hands up, as a form of surrender "But don't get any ideas"

Blaine grinned wolfishly.

"No, sir. Not at all"

* * *

><p>Kurt gives him his address, a quaint little apartment building uptown.<p>

The ride was awkward and uncomfortable on both parties, Kurt observed.

Blaine's fault really.

He was playing a mix CD.

An _interesting _mix, might he add.

Teenage Dream, Blackbird, Baby, It's Cold Outside, and -

Oh.

Candles was in there, too.

"Regionals 2011?" Kurt asks with a fond smile, losing his uncomfortable state.

"Regionals 2011," Blaine confirms, smiling back.

Kurt reaches over and turns it up, with a graceful twist of his fingers.

_All the games you played, the promises you made. Couldn't finish what you started, only darkness still remains_.

Blaine gulps visibly and he peers at Kurt through his peripheral vision.

Kurt's humming, fingers drumming against his denim-clad thigh.

Then his voice fills the small vehicle, angelic, pure and absolutely perfect, just like Blaine remembered.

"_Blow the candles out, looks like a solo tonight_," Kurt croons half-heartedly "_I'm beginning to see the light,_"

Blaine bites his lip, the soft pitter-patter of the rain to accompany Kurt's singing.

He lifts his hand to pull the lever behind the wheel, starting up the wipers. Kurt nudged Blaine's shoulder

"C'mon, a real warbler can't sing alone, remember?**(1)**" Blaine grins and opens his mouth to sing

"_You're invisible, invisible to me. My wish is coming true, erase the memory of your face_"

Soon, Blaine pulls up to the street.

"We're here,"

"Already?"

"You like being with me?" The smirk is back.

Kurt says nothing but "Thanks," as he unlocks the door.

He walks out and uses satchel over his head, and his ever-so-immaculate hair.

Kurt doesn't wave back.

He doesn't turn to see how Blaine is.

Blaine sits there, desperately trying to get Kurt to go back with sad eyes, like those pathetic romantic comedies Kurt had loved so much.

But he doesn't.

So he starts up the engine and drives away just as soon as the song comes to its close.

_Blow the candles out, looks like a solo tonight, but I think I'll be alright_.

* * *

><p><strong>(1) = As referenced from Blaine's line from the original script for Original Songs.<strong>

**Crap, I wrote another so-not-in-the-humor-category thing. I honestly don't know how I did in this, so let me know in a review?**


End file.
